


Watch the Bees

by jkateel



Series: The Hunted [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, implied pre-Dean/Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5416943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jkateel/pseuds/jkateel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His mother had once told him to "look to the bees," but it would take many years for Castiel to understand what that meant. Set before <em>The Hunted.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch the Bees

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tie-in to [The Hunted](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1447786/chapters/3047170) universe. I don't think there are any spoilers, but it might be confusing (and morbid) without the context of the main story.
> 
> A little background: Inspired by the short story "The Most Dangerous Game" by Richard Connell, this universe is set in a world where humans co-exist with angels, vampires, demons, werewolves, etc.; **however, there are no supernatural/magical elements.** Each "monster" from Supernatural canon are all separate distinct flesh-and-blood humanoid species with no magic to speak of. Artistic license was taken with how each species looks and behaves, with various nods to Supernatural canon.

* * *

**Many Years Ago**

* * *

Castiel had been a fledgling, only several months old at the time, when he had encountered his first bee. Back then, he barely came up to his mother’s calves in height, and was still a year or so away from growing into his large, floppy black wings. He had barely learned how to fly a month earlier, but once the wind caught his wings and he soared into the open blue sky for the first time, his curious nature blossomed like a flower under the sun.

It had spread like a weed too, his father always liked to say.

The world was just so big, so new, so _fascinating,_ and Castiel’s wings constantly itched to carry him to every interesting thing he saw. There was so much to explore in their village alone: other angels’ homes, the tunnels where they stored food, the armory, the main hall, the cracks and crevices of the mountain the village was built into. Outside the village, there was the valley that was their home, filled with the forests, meadows, ravines, and vineyards where they tended to the altin berries. On the horizon, there were other villages of their host waiting, and far off, the sea that glimmered like sapphires in the morning.

Castiel would have followed his instincts and flown off if he could, but his mother herded him back to the others whenever he tried. She seemed to sense whenever he was about to sneak off, sweeping him up with her wing before he could take to the air. _Don’t wander off too far from your family, Castiel,_ she’d say as she tucked him against her side and gently poked his nose. _We would not want you to become lost._

Luckily, when he spotted the bee, it was within range of his mother’s watchful eye, so Castiel was free to inspect it. They were out in the meadow next to one of the many ponds, and he had been searching for animals called _frogs_ when his keen eyes had spotted the insect on a white flower petal. His interest was immediately piqued, and the sounds of his siblings wrestling and playing, along with his mother and father talking, faded away as he had crept closer to the bee. One black wing bobbed out in excitement — what _was_ it? he wondered.

He was captivated as he watched the strange creature maneuver around the flower’s center, rubbing yellow powder onto its six legs. It looked like the other insects he had studied before, with its shiny black body and the brown fuzz around on its torso and back. It had the familiar head, torso and abdomen all insects had, with black eyes and six legs. But unlike the others, this was different — it had _wings_.

Just like him! Castiel thought in amazement. That meant it could _fly_.

His own wings bobbed out in excitement, and he looked behind him quickly.

“Mother, Mother!” he cried. She was on the edge of a rock, picking cattails from the pond and placing them into a weaved basket, but she looked down over at him when he called. He gestured her over, and then turned back, pushing his finger near the insect. It crawled on, tickling his skin, and he turned right when his mother approached him. The beaded jewelry and other accoutrements she wore rustled with her movements, her silver blade tied to the the inner part of her gleaming in the sunlight. Right behind her, came his siblings, crowding around them as Castiel held the insect up to her, asking, “What is this?”

He and his siblings took after their mother — they had her blue eyes, the same mane of black feathers on their heads, and black wings that shone shone every color when under the sun. They were dressed similarly too: leggings that tied to their calves and thighs so it didn’t hinder them in flight; their skin covered in Enochian symbols she had painted on each of them. She had written their names on their skins, and various protection sigils; Castiel had several extra on his body, for his “exploratory nature,” as his mother explained when she had been painting them on.

Head cocking curiously, his mother looked over the insect wandering Castiel’s hands. Her lips lifted toward a smile, blue eyes lifting to meet his. “That is a bee, Castiel,” she said.

“A _bu-ee_?” Castiel repeated, and then looked back at the insect. Know that he knew its name, he smiled, and committed that name to memory. “A _bee_.”

His siblings crowded in more, bumping into Castiel, heads bobbing and wings rustling curiously. They began to point out the things Castiel had already noticed, their voices ringing out excitedly.

“It has wings like us!” his sister Nanael cried, and their mother nodded.

“It does,” she agreed, glancing at their father, who had came to sit with them. His brown wings and light hazel eyes glowed gold in the sunlight as he settled on a rock, his own basket full of grasses and tubers.

“What is that yellow powder on it?” Eiael, his brother, asked, his eyes narrowed in a squint.

“It is pollen from the flowers. She collects it,” their mother replied, just as Eiael tried to poke the bee. Castiel moved his hand in time, the bee crawling up toward the silver and blue Enochian sigils on his arms.

“What _is_ a bee, Mother?” Oriel asked, blue eyes lifting up to her. Their mother smiled again, and then her black wings — ones they all loved cramming together to cuddle under every night — curled around them. She did that when she was about to tell them a story or explain something important about the world, and all five of them swiftly grew quiet. They all _loved_ their mother’s stories or explanations, and they eagerly crowded further together, wings quivering happily. Castiel felt his heart beat faster in anticipation. What would he learn today?

“Bees are great, noble, and _very_ special,” his mother began, which made Castiel siblings’ brows furrow and skeptically glance back at the tiny bee. “Without them, this world would not exist. _We_ would not exist.”

That left Castiel bewildered. _We wouldn’t exist?_ he wondered, confused. His siblings had similar reactions, brows wrinkling up as they glanced at the bee again.

“What do you mean, Mother?” Cahethal, his sister, piped in, her wings shifting in her confusion. Their mother smiled again, and then used her wings to draw them closer, all their eyes turning back to her.

“I mean, we could not live here,” she murmured. “But we can, because of the bee. Let me tell you about the role she plays in our world…”

And so she did. She told them about bees and their hives; why they collected pollen and what they turned it into. Castiel learned how the pollen they carried from flower to flower help fertilize them, and that turned into fruits, seeds and berries — including the altin berries his own kind relied so heavily on. He was left utterly amazed at all the new information, and he ended up looking down at the bee in his hands again. How could such a tiny creature be capable of so much? he wondered.

His mother held her finger out to the bee then, the insect clambering on after a moment. “It is said our people used to look to the bees, that we desired to be like them,” their mother went on as she studied the bee, Castiel frowning thoughtfully. “As a single bee works hard for the good of her sisters, her queen and her hive, so must an angel work hard for their family, their arch and Jannah. It is also said that we must have faith like the bee as well.”

“Faith?” Castiel repeated, his wings shuffling again. He had never heard that word before, and didn’t know what it meant.

“Yes,” his mother replied, and then bade them to look out at the valley that was their home. Castiel did as she asked, taking it all in: the meadows, the forests, their village in the cliffside, the mountains that reached so high into the sky. Their mother’s voice grew quiet, like she was telling them a secret. “There will come a time when the world will change. Winter will come, and it will be hard for all of us. In the old days, we used to believe it would never end... Until we learned to watch the bees.”

Castiel had heard about “winter” from the elders; he knew it was why all the adults worked so hard to gather food, storing what they could for when there would be none to find. Yet, it was hard to imagine such a change — that the forests and meadows would be covered in the white powder they called snow, and it would be so cold they could see their breath. But what did that have to do with bees? And why did they have to watch them?

“Your lives will change too, much like the seasons,” their mother continued, her voice changing slightly. Castiel looked up at her at that, growing confused when he saw the expression on his mother’s face. It was a look he had seen before: when Castiel’s last sibling never hatched, and when Oriel had gotten very sick. It was _sad;_ she was sad.

“You will grow older, you will leave home, you will learn how to be great warriors, like all angels must,” she went on, while Castiel’s wings quivered in distress. “There are times that this will be wonderful, like spring. And there will be times this will feel like winter, and that it will never end. And it is in those times that you must remember to watch the bees.”

Castiel grew confused. It sounded like their mother was telling them something important, but it was hard for him to understand what it was. (And why did it make her sad?) His mother gave him no answers though, only a small smile for all them when his siblings turned to look back at her. Then her gaze fell to the bee on her finger, her lips puckering so she could blow a tiny stream of air toward it. With a flutter of its wings, the insect took off into the air, Castiel’s eyes tracking instinctively. Up and up it went, barely a pinprick against the blue of the sky.

“The bees always know winter will end, and the spring will return,” his mother murmured gently as the insect disappeared in the blue of the sky. “They never have any doubts about this, even if they have no reason to believe it. That is their faith … and you must have that faith too, my little ones. Spring will _always_ return.”

She let them go then, chuckling as she pulled back their wings and told them that was enough lessons for the day, and that they should go play. Immediately, his siblings chased after the bee, wanting to see it again or find another, their happy shouts filling the meadows. Their father went after them after sharing an amused smile with their mother, calling on them not to go too far.

Castiel didn’t join them, still so confused. He frowned at his mother after a moment’s thought, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t understand, Mother,” he said, and she looked back at him. “Why must we have faith?”

She smiled again, and then lifted her wing up so it brushed along the feathers of Castiel’s head, making them stand on end. It made him giggle and she sighed, reaching for his hands.

“I would be happy if you never had to understand, my son,” she told him, which confused Castiel some more. But it didn’t last long, Castiel soaking in comfort and love when she pressed their foreheads together. “But do not worry. Simply remember this: Watch for the bees, Castiel. Always watch for the bees.”

* * *

**Present**

* * *

Like so many nights on the island, it was freezing cold, and the angel could _not_ get warm.

Even wrapped up in his wings and coat, and buried under a pile of bough and dead leaves inside a small cave, he was still cold. The chill seeped into his bones and left him shivering, no matter how tightly he curled around himself, and willed himself to be warm. There was simply no relief, not even from sleep — he was in unfamiliar territory, the most he could afford to do was lightly doze. So far from the safety of his secluded den, he had to be wary of the hunters of the night, the lycanthrope and the vampirs. The daemons too, their hellhounds in tow as they patrolled the island, checking on equipment and traps.

There was the monster to worry about as well… But if the angel managed to sense _him_ approaching, it would be too late.

It was a restless night, but morning finally arrived, though it offered no relief from the chill. It only promised the freedom to move safely, but it took some time for the angel to summon up the energy to do so. Leaving the little warmth he had was not ideal; fatigue and grogginess made shifting limbs and wings around difficult, too. Ultimately, it was that dull ache in his stomach, familiar as breathing now, that forced him onward, like it always did. One thought, and one thought alone filled his head again as he emerged from the burrow and blinked up at the sky.

_Food._

He needed to find food. Food for now; food for later. He was constantly on the search for it, but now it was far more pressing than it had ever had been before. Winter was coming, and the angel was not ready for it. The grasses and berries had died off after the first frost, and while there were mushrooms, pine nuts and bark, those wouldn’t help him put the weight he needed to survive the winter. And so, he traveled away from his den — crossed into vampir and lycanthrope territory and headed toward the monster’s — in search of something that would fill his belly. Something that could last him in the long cold days ahead.

It was several days into his search however, and so far, he had nothing to show for it.

The gnawing sensation in his stomach grew, and the angel knew he had to ignore it, along with the aches and pains in his body. After shaking his wings free of dirt and bough, he took in a deep breath to center himself, using the cold to his advantage now. His feet had sank into freshly fallen snow and had gone long numb, and it was that feeling he concentrated on, willing it into the rest of his body. It was like a tree drawing water from its roots, spreading up and up and up, filling every empty spot inside of him. The cold faded away, his fatigue forgotten; the pain in his stomach became nothing more than an afterthought. His wings settled against his back and he slowly exhaled, imagining with it went the pain and hunger.

 _You are above your body,_ he told himself, as he had been taught. (Or, at least he _thought_ that he had been taught — he couldn’t be sure anymore.) _You are above pain. You are above fear. You are above all feelings._

There was only the mission: _Find food._ That was all that mattered; that was all he was. That was all he ever was.

 _But hadn’t there been another mission once?_ a small part of him wondered. _To make our_ own _mission… or to have none, if we wanted. Freedom: That had been their new mission._

Unless that had been a dream too. The angel wasn’t sure. Sometimes… Sometimes it felt like he had always been here, on this island. That all he had ever known was hunger.

It was not the time for those thoughts; he had to press onward and start his search. And so he did, walking further into the forest, heavy with fog and silence. It had been that way for what felt like months now: The birds had flown off after the first frost, and the animals had disappeared not long after. Many had died from an illness, and predation the rest. Still, the angel looked for any signs of them, scanning the forest floors and bases of trees for paw prints or half-eaten vegetation. The vampirs and lycanthrope didn’t come this far north — not when the daemons patrolled it vigorously — so was possible some animals had moved this way to avoid the predators. That was what the angel was counting on as he pushed further inward, eyes and ears trained for any movement or sound.

He was not a born predator like the vampirs or lycanthrope — no superior sense of smell, sharp claws or sharp teeth to speak of — but he had no choice but to _hunt_. There was only one thing that would help him survive the long winter ahead: _Meat_. The nuts, mushrooms and bark he had eaten in the last month couldn’t compare to flesh full of rich fat, organs packed with nutrients, bones full of marrow. If he could findenough of it, he could toss all his worries aside and only worry about the cold and the other predators. Not about starving to death…

 _If_ he could find it.

It was several days into his search however, and he had found nothing.

Still he pressed on, but as hard as he looked, the only sign of life the forest eventually offered was one the angel did not want. A familiar gleam of metal buried in the forest floor caught his eye, and he stopped to examine it, using his angel blade to push leaves away from it. True to his thought, it was one of the daemon’s traps, a circular round of sharp metal teeth that could snap his ankle in two if he stepped into it. And it wasn’t the only one — several feet away, he spotted another one, buried again in the dirt.

The angel’s wings rustled in discontent. He was further north than he realized, and with the appearance of traps, he knew he had gone as far as he could go. He was near the daemon’s compound, and they had littered the area with traps to keep everyone out, one way or another.

The angel knew then that there would be no animals to find here. He had journeyed all this way… only to find _nothing_.

He had failed.

The forest remained silent as he crouched there beside the trap, as that thought slowly went through him. He could feel his heart beating; feel the press of his ribs against his skin every time he breathed. The aches in his body began to return; his wings rustled once in discontent before curling around his shoulders to help fight off the cold creeping back in. The throbbing ache in his stomach, familiar as breathing now, started to grow and grow and _grow,_ until it was difficult to think of anything else but _it_.

It, and his failure.

 _We have no choice,_ part of him thought then. _We searched, but there is nothing. The only food that remains is to the south, and we need it to survive. We_ must _eat._

His wings rustled again, and the angel could feel himself trembling. It wasn’t from the cold, however, though he curled his arms around his knees, for comfort.

 _We will die without food,_ that part of him said again.

The angel knew that, but he thought of the lycanthrope and the vampirs, and the plentiful times from before. When food had been in abundance for all of them, and the angel could let his guard around the predators, not worrying as much about maintaining a safe distance. The lycanthrope hadn’t hunted him, but merely followed him around, hoping he would feed her bird eggs. (He had used to toss them from the cliff sides down to her, amused when she would snatch them up in mid-air.) The vampirs would let him have the meat of their kills once they were finished with the blood, often seeking him out to tell him where it was. In the fall, all of them — vampir, lycanthrope and angel — had fished together, feasting on the salmon that came upriver to spawn.

It was the closest any of them had to peace. It was in those times when the angel hadn’t felt so… Lonely.

But those times were over — the lycanthrope had already attacked him several times, and he had sensed the vampirs were watching him, _waiting_. While he still had bark and mushrooms, they had _nothing,_ and it would only be a matter of time before hunger turned friends into foes.

That was why the angel had decided to go north: not only for food, but to _avoid_ them. Yet it was not out of fear of them. It was out of fear of _himself_.

For he had been watching them too. He had been feeling the weight of his blade in his hand, knowing he was still stronger than all of them, that it would be _easy_ to take what he needed. He wouldn’t have to worry about starving to death if _he_ became the predator...

It was a thought that had frightened him, and driven him away, as far as he could get. Now, however, sitting in the forest, those thoughts returned, and the angel couldn’t avoid them. _Why are you afraid?_ that small part of him thought. He trembled again, curling tighter around himself. _Are you not above your fear?_

The angel didn’t know, just as he didn’t know if the dreams he had were real. Just as didn’t know if he hadn’t always been on this island, or if he had been more than his hunger once.

He didn’t know if he hadn’t always been what the daemons had once called him: an animal.

He didn’t know if he hadn’t always been what the monster had once called him.

_Meat._

He didn’t know. He wished he could know… But for now, he had to ask himself: What was he afraid of?

So consumed with his thoughts, the angel almost didn’t notice the presence on his knee until it moved slightly. It drew his eye downward and he had to blink once, twice, taking in its light yellow-and-black fuzzy body, its shiny black eyes and six legs. Its translucent wings gleamed in the morning light, and the angel realized what it was.

It was a bee.

He went still, ceasing to breathe as his heartbeat quickened, even his growling stomach falling silent. He found himself unable to look away at the tiny creature as it crawled around his knee, and he didn’t know _why._ There was something about the bee, wasn’t there? Something he needed to… _remember_?

The bee flew away then, the angel’s eyes tracking it automatically as it flitted toward the forest, disappearing into the foliage. The angel didn’t know what prompted him to lift up from the ground and follow after it, or why he suddenly became so single-mindedly focused on that, when that was usually reserved for thoughts of food. Perhaps it was the thought that the hive would be nearby, and he could feed on the honey within. Perhaps it was because the bee was outside the safety of its hive, possibly attracted to ripened berries. The angel could feed off those too.

Perhaps it was just that feeling inside him that told him to _follow_. He didn’t know, but he went after it either way.

But just as he found the bee again, flitting around a tree trunk, another sound caught his attention. The angel’s wings rustled in surprise, realizing the sounds were someone’s _voice_. Someone that didn’t sound like a vampir or daemon; certainly not the monster. _“Come on, come on,”_ it was saying. _“Come on.”_

Curious, the angel drew closer toward the voice, parting through the ferns and stepping over tree roots. It didn’t take long to find the source, the angel’s eyes moving upward when it growled, _“No, no, come on_.”

 _It_ was dangling from the trees, caught in a snare trap. He was struggling to free himself, bobbing this way and that as he clawed at the wire around his ankle, grunting and grumbling the entire way. The angel watched him in wonder, taking in his blond-brown hair and the flash of his green eyes, before realizing it was a _human_.

The ache in his stomach returned then, and the angel could feel the press of his blade against his wrist. He could feel his heartbeat again, his muscles tensing, his wings trembling. It became hard to think of anything that wasn’t his hunger or of the human, the angel watching him like a hawk as he worked to free himself from the trap. He wondered again of _what_ he was afraid of… If he even was afraid anymore.

But amongst all that, the angel found himself remembering warmth and comfort, blue eyes and black wings like his own. And a voice too, asking him to remember one thing.

_Watch the bees._

**Author's Note:**

> The first bee mentioned is a Caucasian honey bee ( _Apis mellifera caucasia_ ); the second is a frigid bumblebee ( _Bombus frigidus_.)
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr.](http://jkateel.tumblr.com/)


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